


who ya gonna call?

by ace_corvid



Series: Halloween Countdown Ficfest 2020 [4]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: (hes ok but hes dead), (its tim), Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bad Parents Jack and Janet Drake, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Exorcist Bruce Wayne, Found Family, Gen, Ghost Tim Drake, Ghosts, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Magical Realism, Prompt Fic, TDC Unlucky Thirteen 2020, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake-centric, no betas we die like robins, this could technically also be fluff but im not cruel enough to tag it as that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:27:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27151775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ace_corvid/pseuds/ace_corvid
Summary: “Hello Mr. Wayne.” The tiny child ghost said. “Are you here to exorcise me?”Yes, Bruce was. But what was he gonna do, say that?(Alternatively: Tim is a ghost and Bruce is an exorcist. They work it out.)
Relationships: Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne
Series: Halloween Countdown Ficfest 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1978783
Comments: 66
Kudos: 452
Collections: TDC's Unlucky Thirteen





	who ya gonna call?

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: **Ghost** / Candles
> 
> oops tims dead. who did that?  
> anyway, welcome to day 4 of the tdc countdown to halloween! my sincerest wishes that you enjoyed your day and will also go on to enjoy this fic!  
> but proceed with caution! this fic is relatively lighthearted compared to what it could be, and doesn't go into much detail, but HEED THE TAG WARNINGS please and thank you!
> 
> title: from the ghostbusters theme tune but like, specifically the fall out boy cover

“Hello Mr. Wayne.” The tiny child ghost said. “Are you here to exorcise me?”

Yes, Bruce was. But what was he gonna do, _say_ that?

“No.” Bruce lied through his teeth. “I heard rumours and decided to come check on you, is all.”

“Oh.” The ghost child blinked in surprise. “Thank you. I'm fine.”

“Not planning on causing trouble?” Bruce asked, because he really did have to check. The ghost child tilted his head, as if he was considering it.

“I don't think so.” He said, as non-committally as anything. It wasn't the most reassuring thing Bruce had ever come across in his time as an exorcist. And he'd seen so many things.

“Well, then, what's your name?” Bruce asked politely, as if he wasn't talking to a dead child who's name he'd seen in the papers after his highly publicised death.

“'M Tim.” He said, rubbing at his nose. “Tim Drake.”

“Our old next door neighbour? Bruce feigned surprise, and Tim eyed him as if he was trying to figure out if Bruce was being condescending. Whatever answer he came to, Bruce couldn't say.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Tim shrugged.

“Could I ask you a question?”

“I'm sure you could, Mr. Wayne.”

“Right.” Bruce nodded awkwardly, fiddling with his cuff links as he looked away from Tim's dead, white eyes. “How much do you know about ghosts?”

“I am one.” Tim deadpanned. He didn't look very impressed.

“What about how they're made?” Bruce tried again to get this conversation pointed where he needed it to go.

Tim raised an eyebrow at him. “People die. It doesn't stick.

“I mean, I suppose.” Bruce said, because the boy wasn't wrong. He'd just been hoping for a wide eyed, trusting innocent, or something a little more technical; though perhaps he shouldn't have, given Tim's age. Or rather, the age he died at. “What about-”

“If you're trying to find out what kind of ghost I am so you can exorcise me easier,” Tim interrupted him. “Please could you be just a tiny bit more subtle about it?”

Bruce stared for just a tad too long. Tim began to look offended.

“I'm dead, Mr. Wayne, not _dumb._ ” He added on, clearly affronted.

“Well then. I suppose I've asked enough questions to know anyway.” Bruce sighed. “You're not exactly a poltergeist.”

“I could be.” Tim pouts, but doesn't contest the claim any further. Bruce pushed his hands through his hair. He was getting too old for this kind of a stress, really. Kids were not usually this difficult when they weren't his own.

“You're not.” Bruce dismissed, and the pout easily dropped. “Peaceful ghosts like you, though, they usually... I don't know, travel the world. Do things they never got the chance to do while they were alive, I guess. Not sit in empty houses.”

Tim flinched, bodily. Bruce would have to be blind not to notice.

“Yes well, sitting in an empty house is all I did while I was alive, so. And I've never really had a fondness for word travel.” Tim said bitterly. It was Bruce's turn to flinch- he shouldn't have been so careless. He'd read the papers, he should've known not to say something like that.

“I'm sorry.” Bruce said, tone solemn. “Is there anything I can tell you, or help you with anyway, though?”

Tim stops to think and pales a little. His expression drops as he turns to look Bruce in the eyes. He had been adorable, perhaps, when he was alive, but now the more ghastly impressions of life on him stuck out like a sore thumb- he looked malnourished, had huge bags under his eyes. He looked so small for an age he should have gotten to grow past.

“Do you know what happened to my parents?” Tim asked, the same blank look on his face Tim had when Bruce walked in. “D'you know if they're ok? They haven't been back yet, and no one new has moved in.”

Bruce's heart leapt into his throat. How did he tell this child who died at his parents negligence that they had moved country before his funeral even happened? There wasn't a single world in which someone could take that well, and they wouldn't even be blamed.

“Yeah, Timmy.” Bruce rasped. “They're fine.”

“Good.” Tim nodded decisively. “Mum's awful when she's upset, you know. She yells a lot. But she promises she doesn't mean any of it. Dad's- worse. It's nice that they're happy. It's no good when they're angry, y'see.”

“I'll bet.” Bruce tried not to let any emotion onto his face. The main one was anger, but... he couldn't help but be sad too. This poor boy.

Tim smiled.

“So are you lulling me into a false sense of security, or just too curious to exorcise me straight away?” Tim asked, and it was like knives out of their mouth. Bruce's throat suddenly felt parched.

“Neither.” Bruce answered honestly. “Exorcism gets a very particular reputation on TV you know, but it's not very true to life.”

“Yeah.” Tim nodded easily. “But all fiction comes from truth.”

“I suppose it does. But sometimes an exorcist doesn't need to barge in here, religious symbol's blazing, chanting like a madman. Sometimes, they just need to have a nice chat with a nice ghost, and figure out what they need to move on.”

“Why can't I stay?” Tim grew in on himself, voice small. “Please Mr. Wayne. M' not hurting anyone, I promise. I didn't want to die, but I don't want to not exist more.”

Bruce wondered if Tim could hear his heartbreaking. It wasn't the first time he'd heard it, in this line of business, but it still hurt. Every time.

“There's no proof you stop existing, Tim.” Bruce tried to comfort the young boy.

“There's no proof I don't.” Tim snapped back. “I never even got a chance to live you know.”

“It was your time.” Bruce pursed his lips as Tim's face lit up in anger. “That doesn't mean it was deserved, or that it was good. It just means it is.”

“Bullshit.” Tim was most definitely not old enough to say that word, but then, he hadn't been too young to die, so Bruce figured he got to say whatever he wanted. Tim still said it with a childhood relish to it, like the word was new.

“Tim-”

“I don't believe in fate, or anything like that.” Tim stuck up his chin. “My time? I was barely even alive. The universe doesn't care about me enough to give me a _time._ ”

Bruce looked sideways to Tim, who looked just a little bit under livid. Still ever the quiet child, not wanted to be seen or heard, it bubbled under his skin but didn't break surface.

“You were alive.” Bruce said simply. All at once, every bit of anger seemed to drain out of him, and all that was left was a sad little ghost boy. Dead and a dime a dozen, but a tragedy all the same.

“I'm not so sure Mr. Wayne.” Tim said dolefully. “If no one loved me, _was_ I ever even alive?”

How the hell is Bruce supposed to respond to _that?_

Bruce paused, taking a moment to breathe and just, process the sheer implications of that statement.

“I wish someone had been around to make you feel loved, Tim, I really do. I wish they could have seen how brilliant you were. But you listen to me: life isn't made out of love. It's about the effects you have on other people. And I've read all the papers Tim, I've seen what people had to say about you. You made people happy. _Of course_ you were alive.”

Tim slumped forward, finally crying. Bruce wished more than anything that Tim could be corporeal, even just for a minute, so that Bruce could hug him close.

Bruce let him cry for a couple more minutes, just to get all the sobs out.

“Is that what you need to move on Tim? To be loved?” Bruce asked quietly. Tim hiccuped next to him, before drawing himself up to composure.

“I don't know.” Tim said haplessly. “Would moving on make me happier?”

“Ghosts that move on generally have to be either content with or accepting of what happened in their lives, a wish fulfilled or they have to be forcefully ejected. There isn't a ghost out there who didn't feel like they had something left they needed to do.”

“You may as well forcefully eject me then.” Tim snarked. “I don't see the other two happening.”

“Well, generally I try to get a ghost to move on peacefully, as a rule. I've never actually had to forcefully exorcise a ghost, and I never want to. I find my methods just work better.” Bruce ran his hand through his hair, sighing yet again.

“Is that why there's still a poltergeist living in amusement mile?” Tim squinted.

“Shut up.” Bruce said with no heat to it. He wasn't about to be back chatted by a mouthy dead child on the job, he got enough of that at home.

“I see.” Tim looked like he was trying not to laugh. That was good, that was progress.

“What do you think you need to move on, Tim?” Bruce asked, praying he'd get a real answer this time. “What do you want?”

Tim blinked like being asked what he wanted was a novel experience. Maybe it was.

“I used to want a family.” Tim shrugged. “But I'm dead now. And the living don't live for the dead.”

“Well.” Bruce paused to think of the look on Alfred's face when he brought Tim home. “You could always come with me. I've got a family I think you'd fit in quite well with.”

“I'm _dead._ ”

“The dead still have families.” Bruce said. “Two of my sons are ghosts, you know.”

It was Tim's turn to stare gormless this time. “You can _do_ that?”

Bruce tried not to smile fondly, but it was too late. He already loved this kid. “Yes. Would you like to come home with me, Tim?”

Tim starts crying again as he stands up on transparent legs, looking up to Bruce with stars in his eyes.

“Yeah. Home. That sounds great.”

**Author's Note:**

> poor tim, but now he's got two ghost brothers who're gonna show him how to do like a bunch of cool stuff!
> 
> you can find me at:  
> Tumblr: ace-corvid.tumblr.com  
> Twitter: twitter.com/ace_corvid  
> come yell at me!
> 
> thank you so much for reading, see you next time! And if you enjoyed this, a comment would really make my day!


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